I Am The Poet Of The Body And I Am The Poet Of The Soul 1a665

“I Am the Poet of the Body and I Am the Poet of the Soul:” Whitman and the “New Bible” of Leaves of Grass, by Andy Hermansen t is quite a claim for an author to make when he or she states that a new literary work represents the foundation of a new spiritual or religious belief. Yet, in 1860, this is precisely what Walt Whitman asserted that the newest edition of his collection of poetry, Leaves of Grass, ought to be understood as. This text contains some of Whitman’s most celebrated poems, including “Song of Myself,” “The Sleepers,” and “I Sing the Body Electric,” and one could easily examine any one of the number of issues and ideas that Whitman presents in these poems (Reynolds, Walt Whitman’s America, 236). Yet, Whitman’s claim that Leaves of Grass represents a “new Bible” designed to “inaugurate a religion,” coupled with the undeniable mystical nature of these poems, entreats a serious critical examination of whatever insights Leaves of Grass may have into religion and the spirit in order to determine whether or not the actual vision of Whitman’s work stands up to what he imagined it to be. This task is not an easy one, for Whitman explores and tries on many of the spiritual and religious ideas that he was familiar with at the time; as he writes, “I am large….I contain multitudes” (“Song of Myself,” 1316). Any analysis of the poet’s self-composed religion must therefore take into the variety of religious and philosophical influences that he was under, as well as whatever unique or innovative beliefs he proposes. However, this work pays off, as Whitman’s “new religion” becomes beautifully understandable; an entire dogma or doctrine may not be fully realized from an analysis of Leaves of Grass, but the foundations of a new religion and belief structure are very clearly laid out. In Leaves of Grass, Whitman presents the nation with a radical new religion containing various pre-existing beliefs and spiritual notions, but one that ultimately rests on a subject that is forever linked with Whitman: the erotic. In order to fully this claim, it is necessary to first examine Whitman’s personal background, as well as the backgrounds of the religions and authors upon which he constructed his creed. Next, the nature and meaning of the erotic in Leaves of Grass and Whitman’s religion must be analyzed. Finally, so as to prove that this text and its cosmological contents do indeed constitute a justifiable religion, and not merely the personal writings or reflections of its author, a look into Whitman’s personal writings about Leaves of Grass as well as historical criticism focusing on religion in America during this time period will be provided. Before an examination of Whitman’s spiritual and religious statements in Leaves of Grass may be undertaken, it is beneficial to understand Whitman’s personal religious background in order to understand precisely where this text and its religious intents are coming from. Whitman had a difficult relationship with organized religion, which makes it intriguing but also puzzling as to why he would suddenly feel compelled to introduce a new religion through Leaves of Grass. The poems that constitute the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, the edition that forms the foundation of this critical examination, present ideas that depart dramatically from the Puritan and Christian ideals that had formed the foundation of American religious beliefs for over a century. However, Malcolm Cowley, in his introduction to the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, observes, “Whitman cannot be called a Christian heretic, for the simple reason that he was not a Christian at any stage of

his career, early or late” (Cowley, xiv). In Whitman’s words, “I was never made to live inside a fence” (Whitman as cited in D.J. Moores, Mystical Discourse, 184). Whitman’s problems with religious institutions and the traditional Christian view of God are well documented, not only in what is found in his artistic works, but what is found in his personal reflections and writing, as well. While working for the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Whitman wrote an editorial in which he declared his distaste for churches who looked to financial or social status in order to determine the value of their : “ ‘We don’t see how it is possible to worship God there at all…Ah, there is no religion there’” (Whitman, as cited in Reynolds, 237). Clearly Whitman was perturbed by the corruption that he saw in the supposedly upstanding and virtuous religious institutions that surrounded him. But Whitman was concerned with more than the human failings that were a part of the Christian churches he knew about: the idea of worshiping distant or absent divine ideas or powers without the recognition of the influence of human beings in this relationship was one that weighed heavily upon Whitman. “We consider the bibles and religions divine,” Whitman writes in “A Song for Occupations,” “I do not say they are not divine / I say that they have all grown out of you and may grow out of you still, / It is not they who give the life….it is you who give the life” (78-81). Because of the very personal understanding of religion that Whitman adopts, he is disturbed by those religions and their representatives who view their own faith as somehow more perfect or advanced than any other creed. He makes this belief quite clear in “Song of Myself,” writing, “I do not despise you priests; / My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, / Enclosing all worship ancient and modern, and all between ancient and modern” (1092-94). Whitman does not stop at questioning the divine truth and power that individuals invest in bibles and religions, however: he is also concerned with contemplating and redefining the relationship between creation and the Creator: And I call to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, No array of can say how much I am at peace about God… I hear and behold God in every object, yet I understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass; I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is signed by God’s name,

And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever (“Song of Myself,” 1271-80). In one sense, it is possible to read this age as a pious commemoration of the “unknowability” of God, for Whitman does acknowledge, in fact, that he is “at peace about God,” and he recognizes this divine presence in all things around him. However, Whitman’s statement that he cannot “understand who there can be more wonderful than [himself]” reveals an almost absurd degree of self-centeredness and arrogance that immediately casts serious doubts upon any reading that entails a tribute to the divine or a celebration of any all-powerful deity. This question of what the real role of “God” is in relationship to the material world of men and women, and indeed where spiritual truth and power themselves lie, is one that Whitman revisits throughout the entirety of Leaves of Grass, and it is one that will be examined in further detail later in this paper. For the moment, however, it is enough to point out that Whitman had severe doubts and reservations about the standard, traditional religious practices common to his time period, and this, no doubt, led him to turn his focus to the crafting of his own idealized religious system. In order to preface a discussion of the specific elements and nuances of Whitman’s religion, a brief roap is necessary. There are three major themes or tenets of the religious doctrine that Whitman puts forth in Leaves of Grass, with the third serving as an extension of the previous two. These three principles include the relationship between the human soul and the human body, the bond that unites all of humanity, their souls and their bodies, together, and the value of the erotic – the union of human souls and bodies in a sexual way – in celebrating this spiritual experience. Whitman’s treatment of these different ideologies in his religion is seen throughout Leaves of Grass, and by the end of the collection, one can grasp the entirety of Whitman’s ideal religion. “I am the poet of the body, / And I am the poet of the soul:” so Whitman begins the twenty-first section of his epic “Song of Myself,” and in these two lines captures the first essential aspect of the religion he is inaugurating: the unification of the body and the soul (“Song of Myself,” 422-23). In fact, it is difficult to discuss one of these entities without the other in Whitman’s poetry, as they inevitably become interlocked. A startling example of the way in which Whitman sees the indivisibility of soul and body is found in a short age from the poem “The Sleepers:” The myth of heaven indicates the soul; The soul is always beautiful….it appears more or it appears less….it comes or lags behind, It comes from its embowered garden and looks pleasantly on itself and encloses the world; Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and perfect and clean the womb cohering,

The head wellgrown and proportioned and plumb, and the bowels and ts proportioned and plumb (167-171). Although there is no direct reference to the unity of soul and body in this age, Whitman’s poetic structure alludes to the strong connection between the two that he makes explicit elsewhere in his poetry. It is the seeming inconsistency of the age that highlights this important connection for Whitman: he begins with an almost dream-like and serene image of the soul before moving sharply to an explicit celebration of the human body. Were these two descriptions separated by a stanza or age marker, this dramatic shift would be less suggestive, but the fact that Whitman s these two depictions together in a single stanza discloses his deeper, religious intent. These ages show that there is no escaping the importance of this unity of soul and body in Whitman’s poetry. Whitman’s unification of the body and the soul owes a great deal to the Romantic literary tradition, and the work of William Wordsworth in particular. D. J. Moores, a literary critic who has taken considerable interest in the mystical nature of Whitman’s poetry, states that “Wordsworth and Whitman are the two principal Romantics in the AngloAmerican tradition,” and that as such, they both share a great deal in common in of their views on the relationship between body and soul (Moores, Mystical Discourse, 9). In his extensive work comparing the mystical natures of the works of both Wordsworth and Whitman, Moores refers to the research done by Whitman scholar Mark Delancey to emphasize this important similarity between these two Romantic authors. “Delancey,” according to Moores, “sees the coning of body and soul in Whitman as suggestive of the Wordsworthian relation between the ‘celestial light’ and ‘the light of common day,’ as they are connected in the ‘Imitations’ ode” (Moores, 10). This reference to the “celestial light,” with its heavenly connotations, reveals the magnitude that this coupling has on a discussion of the divine in these texts. However, while Wordsworth expresses a great deal of interest in this relationship, Whitman argues that it supercedes all other sorts of divine entities, including the idea of God. For Whitman, the body and the soul are two distinct but interconnected entities that together craft a much larger and greater entity: the self. The idea of this self is a central tenet of Whitman’s religion, and Whitman’s worldview in general. His contention is starkly laid out in a brief but powerful age from “Song of Myself:” “I have said that the soul is not more than the body, / And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, / And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s-self is” (1262-64). These extraordinary, if decidedly more than slightly sacrilegious lines, make the significance of the union of body and soul to Whitman overtly clear to any reader, even one approaching Whitman for the first time. The body and the soul are two inseparable parts of Whitman’s view of the human identity, and as a result it forms the foundation upon which he may construct his original religion. A different sort of unity exists within Leaves of Grass, however, and this unity goes beyond the internal union of an individual’s body and soul to encapsulate the harmony of all human beings. Whitman repeatedly during Leaves of Grass, and “Song of Myself” in particular, identifies himself with his fellow human beings. “…these one and all,” Whitman writes, referring to those people whom he describes in an extensive, 70-line list,

“tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, / And such as it is to be of these more or less I am” (“Song of Myself,” 324-25). And it would be irresponsible not to make note of the opening three lines of “Song of Myself,” in which Whitman draws his reader into the poem by specifically citing this bond that exists between all human beings. “I celebrate myself,” Whitman famously begins his poem, “And what I assume you shall assume, / For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you” (“Song of Myself,” 1-3). This idea of the importance of human unity to a religious belief system is one that is not uncommon to multiple religions, although it is possible to find one influence in particular which may have proven to be more substantial than the rest. Whitman was a close follower of fellow Romantic author Ralph Waldo Emerson, who examined and reflected upon his own religious beliefs and influences in his own texts. The research of literary critic Wai-Chee Dimock reveals that it was the uniting ability of religion, and the Islamic religion in particular, that fascinated Emerson: …this fact forcibly suggests the idea that the only true and legitimate vehicle of immortality, the only bond of connection which can transverse the long duration which separates the ends of the world and unites the first people to the knowledge and sympathy of the last people, is religion” (Emerson, “Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks,” 1:62, as cited in Dimock). Although this reference only speaks about Emerson, it is not altogether impossible or unreasonable to extend this notion to Whitman’s writing, for as Moores remarks in Mystical Discourse, “Emerson exerted indisputably the profoundest influence on Whitman’s poetry,” and even Whitman himself acknowledged his own debt to Emerson’s ideas: “ ‘I was simmering, simmering…Emerson brought me to a boil” (Whitman, as cited in Moores, Mystical Discourse, 24). This Emersonian sense of the importance of relating to others through comionate means is reflected in “Song of Myself”: “And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral, dressed in his shroud” (1265). The strong religious language of this quotation, with its references to one’s own “funeral, dressed in a shroud,” brings up clear religious connotations, and one can see the broader, holy significance and implications that Whitman and his fellow Romantic authors felt about the union of human souls. However, while this connection is certainly a defensible one, it cannot be ignored that there are clear distinctions between Emerson’s uniting faith and Whitman’s. One distinction that deserves particular attention because of its substantial deviation is the importance of the role of the material world role in Whitman’s writing. F.O. Matthiessen, an American literary historian, notices, “Whitman bridged the gap between the material and the ideal in a way that Emerson could not” (Matthiessen, 540). Perhaps there is no better example to this claim than in the closing ages of Whitman’s “The Sleepers.” Here, Whitman imagines representatives of the whole of humanity ed together in a sensual but innocent connection, which conjures up images of the Garden of Eden from the Judeo-Christian tradition. “The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,” Whitman imagines in typical sensual , “They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as they lie unclothed” (“The Sleepers,” 179-180). These lines do, indeed, extend Emerson’s ideas from the ideal to the very material and bodily.

In addition, while Emerson certainly played a large role in shaping Whitman’s idea of the significance of human unity, the influence of other foreign religions, particularly Eastern religions, can be strongly felt when reading Whitman’s text. Whitman’s familiarity with and knowledge of these philosophies does not seem to be too strong, but Malcolm Cowley does stress, “It is true that they [Indian ideas] were vaguely in the air of the time and that Whitman may have breathed them in from the Transcendentalists or even from some of the English quarterly reviewers” (Cowley, xii). Cowley points out that ideas such as karma and metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul after death into another living body, ideas that enhance this idea of human connectivity, are very much within these Eastern religions. Just as with the works of Wordsworth and Emerson, however, Whitman made these ideas his own: “It also seems possible, however, that he reinvented them for himself…” (Cowley, xii). Regardless of where the ideas of his influencers end and where his own begin, it is clear that Whitman’s religion placed a high value on the unity of human souls and the fellowship of all human beings, regardless of occupation, race, or gender. The combination of these two spiritual ideas – the coning of the soul (spiritual) and the body (sensual) on the one hand, and the unity of all humans on the other – reveals the third and most critical component of Whitman’s “Bible:” the importance of the role of the erotic in his religious doctrine. Whitman is well known for his sensual and at times even graphic images and s that are found throughout his poetry; this fixation on bodily pleasures and descriptions is presented within the first twenty lines of “Song of Myself:” “I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, / I am mad for it to be in with me” (11-12). However, it is one thing to employ these ages in a romantic or natural description, and quite another to incorporate them into a discussion of the Divine, which is precisely what Whitman does in Leaves of Grass. Whitman’s physical but more or less platonic imagery in “The Sleepers,” of men and women of all occupations and ages throughout the world ing hands, is amplified when God becomes a very human and erotic being in Whitman’s poetry: “God comes a loving bedfellow and sleeps at my side all night and close on the peep of the day” (“Song of Myself,” 52). Thus, the intense significance of eroticism in Whitman’s religious views is unapologetically laid out for all to see. These erotic ages only increase in their detail and length as the poem unfolds. Two sections after the afore mentioned encounter with the literal “loving God,” Whitman intensifies this erotic spirituality to a level that borders on pornography: while describing an afternoon together with a personification of his soul, Whitman writes, “You settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me, / And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my barestript heart, / And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet” (“Song of Myself,” 79-81). Here, body and soul become more than merely united as they are in Wordsworth’s writings: they become intimate lovers. This is an astonishing religious position to adopt, but while it is in keeping with Whitman’s legacy of focusing on the material and bodily, this sort of religious eroticism is not unique to the poet alone. David Reynolds looks to the movement known as

“Swedenborgianism” as an inspiration for Whitman’s erotic religion. A movement that was growing and spreading on the American continent during these middle years of the nineteenth-century, “ ‘Swedenborgianism,’” as defined by Reynolds, “was a religious movement that showed how the erotic and the mystical could be combined” (Reynolds, 45). Given such graphic ages as the one listed above, it is not difficult to see how this sort of movement may have and in fact did impact Whitman’s religious view. Indeed, it makes sense that Whitman would inevitably have become interested in a religion whose views on the sensual closely mirrored his own writings. Whitman did not keep his appreciation and acceptance of this particular religious system a secret, even going so far as to remark, “ ‘I think Swedenborg was right when he said there was a close connection —a very close connection—between the state we call religious ecstasy and the desire to copulate” (Whitman, as cited in Reynolds, “From Periodical Writer to Poet,” 45). “The fact that this erotic moment is followed immediately by an intensely religious one,” Reynolds continues, “is also in keeping with Swedenborgian belief” (Reynolds, “From Periodical Writer to Poet,” 47). The intensely religious moment that Reynolds is referring to occurs around line 85 in “Song of Myself,” where Whitman asserts: And I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the eldest brother of my own, And that all men ever born are also my brothers….and the women my sisters and lovers (83-85) Here, the erotic precursor that Whitman has set up turns this age from a simple religious reflection into one of an intense pronouncement of the role of the erotic within Whitman’s religion. And when Whitman remarks in the next line that “a kelson of the creation is love,” it is clear that Whitman is using the word love in every sense of the word, from neighborly love to sexual acts. A bit more must be said about Swedenborgianism in order to truly understand its religious doctrines as well as how these doctrines affected Whitman. Marguerite Beck Block, a Swedenborgianism scholar, in her exhaustively researched tome on Swedenborg and his religion, offers some valuable insights into this rather obscure religion that held such power over Whitman. Emanuel Swedenborg, a Swedish born statesman and scientist, established his self-titled religion in the eighteenth century, but it was not until the early part of the nineteenth century that this new religious sect caught hold in America (Block, “Emanuel Swedenborg”). This new religion, an off-shoot of Christianity, reflects some of the major tenets of the Romantic movement, such as the significant role of the soul in human existence, but extends the realm of this spirit to an important dimension: sexual love. “In Part I of [Swedenborg’s] great work, The Delights of Wisdom pertaining to Conjugial Love,” Block writes, “he expounds his doctrine of sex as a spiritual, as well as a physical, fact persisting to all eternity” (Block, 49). This idea is obviously in line with Whitman’s opinion of the indivisibility of body and soul. What Block writes next makes Swedenborgianism appear to be in the same trajectory as Whitman’s religion. According to Swedenborg, “in the world of spirits married partners

meet and live together, but if they find, as their interior natures are revealed, that they are not spiritually united, they separate and seek their spiritual mates elsewhere” (Block, 49). Whitman’s view of a spiritual world in which all humans are connected fits almost perfectly into this description of Swedenborgianism. Swedenborg’s religion, therefore unites the two major tenets of Whitman’s own religion and appears to serve as a base upon which Whitman could expand his own ideas. This free-swinging spiritual world of Swedenborg’s, in which sex plays an integral part in the life of dynamic human spirits, was clearly attractive to Whitman, and it is not difficult to see how Whitman would incorporate this religious doctrine into his own religion of connecting spirits and the power of the erotic. Although Swedenborg clearly had a profound impact on Whitman’s theology, he was not alone in his influence on the poet’s erotic religion. Just as Whitman’s idea of human unity may have been influenced by Eastern religions, so, too, are his views on the erotic within religion. The religious significance of erotic deeds is one that is familiar to Eastern philosophies and religions. Cowley finds strong parallels between what Whitman describes in his poetry and what of the Mahayana sect of the Buddhist religion believe, “that the sexual act can serve as one of the sacraments” (Cowley, xxii). Again, this inclusion of various world philosophies and religions reveals that Whitman was seeking religious truth through multiple religious traditions in order to come to find his own mystical and spiritual values. The result is a wonderfully complex amalgamation of philosophies that center upon a simple theme: the importance of recognizing the harmony of all aspects of human life, consummated in erotic love. “I am…A novice beginning experient of myriads of seasons, / Of every hue and trade and rank, of every caste and religion, / Not merely of the New World but of Africa Europe or Asia,” Whitman writes in “Song of Myself,” and it is obvious that Whitman is true to his word (342-44). With the major tenets and beliefs of Whitman’s religion examined, it must be considered whether all of this grandiose language ought to be taken as a serious attempt to establish and cultivate a new religion for this still relatively new nation, or if Leaves of Grass is merely an extended personal reflection on Whitman’s own, private thoughts. Based on what Whitman left in his personal writings, and the changing nature of religion during this time period in the young American nation, it seems that Whitman did indeed intend for his revolutionary religious doctrine to be picked up by his fellow Americans, however improbable that may seem to modern readers. Whitman was clearly taken by the idea that this text could be a transforming work; in his notes Whitman wrote, “ ‘Leaves of Grass’ – Bible of the New Religion,” which seems to all but prove that this text was more than a means for Whitman to express his own personal feelings on this hot-button topic in midnineteenth century America (Whitman, Notes and Fragments Left by Walt Whitman, pg. 55, as cited in Harris). W.C. Harris, an the American history scholar, argues that not only was Leaves of Grass an active text responding to and calling for change in this turbulent society, but that that society itself was seeking and in some ways demanding a new idea to lead it through this turmoil: …if we weigh the force with which Whitman speaks of a New Bible as ‘the principal object – the main life work’ and if we consider the fact that the mid nineteenth century

was until then the most active period of sectarian splintering and Bible translation in American history, it seems that an important argument has been left unmade about the way in which the 1860 Leaves responds to demands that nineteenth-century Americans were making on the Bible (Harris, 75). Some modern readers might find it troubling that Whitman, a man who, as previously seen, expressed such disdain for organized religion and actively questioned the power of the Divine, would seek to craft a new “religion” of his own and to attempt to spread this religion to the masses. But Harris’ quote serves as a rebuttal to those who would call Whitman a hypocrite for preaching a religion while criticizing the status quo. Reynolds, too, responds to this problem, and reminds modern readers that “in a time when mainstream religion was becoming increasingly secular, promoters of religion could be thoroughly enjoyed without reference to the churches with which they were associated” (Reynolds, Walt Whitman’s America, 255). Thus, while it may be difficult for modern readers to get behind the religious doctrine of a man opposed to religious structure, within the context of this time period, “Whitman’s advocacy of nondenominational ‘religion’ in secular poetry, then, was not unusual” (Reynolds, 256). Harris’ proposal also illuminates another new and intriguing way of reading Leaves of Grass: as a means for Whitman to assume the role of national spokesman, putting into words the spiritual struggle that America was experiencing at this time. Whitman has often been celebrated as “America’s Poet,” but this interpretation gives even more credence to this title. A poetry collection that begins with the commemoration of the self thus takes on national significance through the way that it addresses the crisis in piety in America, and offers an answer to those who are willing to listen. Additionally, the importance of Whitman’s connection with the Romantic movement cannot be overstated when discussing the religious implications that Whitman hoped Leaves of Grass would have on his nation and its citizens. The Romantic notions of what a poet is and what his or her poetry can accomplish take on incredibly mystical meanings. In Walt Whitman: A Life, Whitman scholar Justin Kaplan shows just how powerful the Romantics held the art of the poet and his or her message to be. According to Kaplan, “Whitman was the inheritor of the Wordsworthian/Romantic notion of the poet as the ‘agency of a transcendent power’ who ‘created rapt verse in “ecstasy of statement” ’” (Kaplan, 189). These references to “a transcendent power” composed in “ecstasy” almost perfectly reflect what one finds in Leaves of Grass, where Whitman describes the poet as one “lighting the study of man, the soul, immortality” (8). This Romantic notion of the unique power that poetry possesses in matters of the spirit helps explain the somewhat perplexing mystery of why Whitman chose to relate his theological beliefs through poetic means, as opposed to a biblical format. As already noted, this time-period in American history saw the re-evaluation of how to interpret the Bible, which made translating the traditional Bible, and even creating new ones, much less questionable. Indeed, only a quarter of a century before Whitman published Leaves of Grass, Joseph Smith founded the Mormon religion by publishing that religion’s Bible, the Book of Mormon (“Joseph Smith, Jr. – Basic Facts,” LDS website). Some might argue that this new way of considering the Bible would make publishing a “New Bible” a more acceptable and appealing means of promoting a new religion to the American public. However,

Whitman’s view of the poet as the holder of a “transcendent power” and his connection to the Romantic-movement justify his more secular, non-traditional method of informing the public of his new religion. The idea, then, that poetry could bring about stunning reforms and establish new principles was one that Whitman would not have had a difficult time accepting and attempting to duplicate. Harris expresses this same sentiment in E Pluribus Unum, although his Romantic reference is Emerson as opposed to Wordsworth. Harris reminds his readers that: As Emerson had written ten years earlier in Representative Men, ‘We too must write Bibles, to unite again the heavens and the earthly worlds’ (EL 761). Like Poe and Whitman, Emerson sees founding, truth-telling texts as being endowed with precisely the practical intent that his country needed so urgently but that its extant political and religious institutions could no longer supply (Harris, 75-76). Harris here crystallizes perhaps the best argument for what Whitman saw himself doing in Leaves of Grass: crafting a text that expounded a higher truth to a country that was searching for an answer to its earthly problems. This certainly reflects a highly Romanticized view of the power of poetry in the world, but it is an important realization to come to in order to truly understand what Whitman is trying to do in his epic masterpiece. While it may seem idealistic, or even insane to some extent, when read from a modern perspective, one cannot argue that this sort of national-changing purpose was at the forefront of Whitman’s mind as he sat down to compose Leaves of Grass in midnineteenth century America. However, after all of this discussion of the nuances and beliefs of this religious system proposed by Whitman and what he envisioned this religion actually becoming within the framework of the American culture, it must be asked, does not all of this discussion of a governing spiritual doctrine fly in the face of the vast majority of Whitman’s writings? Indeed, it seems paradoxical at best, and hypocritical at worst, that Whitman would attempt to establish and gather converts to any religion, even one of his own design, when he places so much value on individual freedom. The importance of self-identity and individual sovereignty to Whitman has previously been demonstrated in the examination of the union of body and soul in Leaves of Grass (“And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s-self is”), and it is difficult to overestimate the significance of the self when reading Whitman. This emphasis on autonomy is highlighted within the famed opening line of “Song of Myself”—“I celebrate myself”—and is even more clearly spelled out in a age from the poem’s second section: Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems[…] You shall no longer take things at second or third hand….nor look through the eyes of the dead….nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself. (25, 27-29) Given this repeated commemoration of and even insistence upon self-expression and selfempowerment, it is easy to understand why many readers of Whitman are left critical of Whitman and his apparent self-contradictions. How, then, can this desire to “inaugurate a religion” be reconciled with these frequent and ionate assertions of the power of the individual? In this case, it is necessary to look beyond the margins of the text of Leaves of Grass in order to understand how Whitman is able to advocate the rights of the individual while expounding the values of his new religion. Whitman’s 1871 prose piece, “Democratic Vistas,” perhaps sheds the most light on how Whitman saw his literary offerings working within the larger context of mid-nineteenth century American society. Reflecting on the philosophy of John Stuart Mill and the nature of modern (nineteenth century) democracies, Whitman writes: John Stuart Mill’s profound essay on Liberty in the future, where he demands two main constituents[…]for a truly grand nationality — 1st, a large variety of character — and 2d, full play for human nature to expand itself in numberless and even conflicting directions — ([…]an infinite number of currents and forces, and contributions, and temperatures, and cross purposes, whose ceaseless play of counterpart upon counterpart brings constant restoration and vitality.) (Democratic Vistas, 1) At first reading, this age would appear to be about political or national liberty, and not applicable to a discussion of reconciling Whitman’s religious convictions to his selfempowering arguments. However, with a little bit of unpacking, it becomes clear that Whitman sees the many ideas and beliefs that are allowed to be expressed and developed in a nation that offers such liberty as the key to granting true individual freedom. What is beautiful to Whitman about this “Liberty” is that it enables the sharing of, as he writes, “an infinite number of currents and forces,” which permits an individual to examine and either accept or deny any idea, whether it be political, social, or religious, for him or herself. In this way, Whitman’s call to “filter [all sides] from yourself” does fit within the parameters of his religious creed, while at the same time ensuring individual autonomy. It may be that this controversial argument for turning oneself over to a particular religious belief while maintaining individual sovereignty cannot be resolved. Even Whitman was able to recognize the perceivable incongruities and contradictions within his own masterpiece: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then….I contradict myself” (“Song of Myself,” 1314-15). Its very nature makes it a mind-bending paradox, a Catch-22: to accept Whitman’s religion is to believe in what he proposes; but to believe in what he proposes, on some level, deprives an individual of the full autonomy which Whitman so earnestly advocates for. In the end, however, this apparent incongruity appears to be forgivable, for to truly yield to Whitman’s belief and follow his religious example, one must search for answers on his or her own and “filter [all sides] from yourself.” This answer may not please all readers or believers, but then again that, too, is a characteristic of Whitman’s poetry, and poetry in general for that matter.

Leaves of Grass represents a remarkable defining moment in the life of its author. It is through this text that Whitman not only could make the claim to being the “American Poet,” but also attempts to become the “American prophet.” Cowley recognizes the stunning insights and impacts of the collections longest and most epic work, “Song of Myself,” declaring, “ ‘Song of Myself’ should be judged…as one of the great inspired… prophetic works that have appeared at intervals in the Western world” (Cowley, xi). After examining the elements of Whitman’s religious doctrine in Leaves of Grass, including the variety of spiritual and literary influences that impacted his own personal beliefs, as well as the meaning of this text during this time in American history, Cowley’s statement does not seem to be as farfetched or as unjustifiable as it may originally appear to be. Although Whitman’s desire to “inaugurate a religion” through the composition of Leaves of Grass may have failed to reach the scope that he would have liked or intended, the religious significance of the text is not lost. Leaves of Grass reveals that Whitman is, truly, the poet of the body and the poet of the soul, uniting them in a way that established a new religious doctrine for the new nation with which he identified himself so strongly.